#it really is all water under the bridge now isn’t it

[mariasont]

HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy

ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered

IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(

anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something

-h

Warm Under the Collar - S.R

summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k

“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.

He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it. 

The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.

“I’m always thinking about you.”

The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.

He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. 

Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly. 

“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature. 

“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”

Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.

“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”

Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.

“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.” 

He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.

“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”

“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”

He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”

“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”

“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”

A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.

“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”

Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”

He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.

“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”

Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.

He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”

Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”

Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[oddishblossom]

Logan’s wife, his lover, his ex-wife, and his ex-lover walk into a bar his funeral memorial

SUCCESSION - 4.09 CHURCH & STATE

[ennn]

Hold the fuck up, this isn’t a real trial.

In retrospect a number of things about the episode, especially the coven's characterisation felt off... and now on rewatch I'm pretty certain this isn't a trial of the Road at all – it's the Salem Seven punishing Agatha.

Clues under the cut with some spoilers from future scenes in trailers / promo clips.

Clue #1 – No screen aspect ratio change

As @wolfcracker points out, for the two previous trials the screen ratio changed once they entered the place (going full screen). We didn't get that for this cabin.

Clue #2 – No phase of the moon decoration at the entrance

We've had these obviously built into the previous trial entrances but there's no sign of one for this cabin.

The coven's so panicked getting chased by the locusts they don't notice it running in. The door is made of wooden planks with tiny gaps in between and you don't see a sign of any moon on the other side either.

Notably, in a trailer and promo shot, you see the moon featured prominently again for an upcoming trial, when Agatha and Billy cross a stone bridge structure and approach an entrance (presumably of the tower).

Clue #3 – Each trial has an element, this cabin doesn't

This was something that seemed odd even before this episode, we saw five weird horror movie-trope settings – assumed to be trials – in posters and promotional materials but there are only four identified elements for the Road.

Sure you could have more moon phases (like we do irl) but the Ballad that is central the show only mentions four elements: fire, water, earth, and air.

Our first two trials had strong ties with an element: if you failed you'd be killed by that element or something associated with it i.e. drowning or burning.

Now from the promos, an upcoming trial with the anti-gravity effect going on in a tower fits well with the air element. And the threat of death here is associated with going into the air (spikes in the ceiling).

Notice from the flying forms that this trial does go full-frame like the first two we certainly had (clue #1).

Another upcoming trial we know of (that looks like a morgue or asylum-like place) can be linked with the earth given that we see rocks and earth falling in a shot. Death by crushing earth.

This cabin had no element associated with it at all. The threat of death was by... Agatha siphoning your magic? Or in the case of Agatha, to be tortured forever by her mom?

Clue #4 – The trial area doesn't necessarily keep out the Salem Seven

From the promo shots of presumably the air trial (see above), we clearly see the Salem Seven in the tower attacking them. Why then did Locust and the rest of the Seven leave them alone in the cabin when they were right behind them?

Other sus elements

OK, these are more ambiguous and could be the result of bad writing but here's the other stuff in this "trial" that just seems off

The coven turns really really quickly on Agatha and viciously. And they literally just rode broomsticks where it's mentioned it's "about selflessness" and "we fly together or not at all". I mean yeah the people might lie but they were enough of a team that the magic for the broomsticks worked.

The trial's instruction was to just "punish Agatha"? That's oddly specific and pointed. Previous trials had the entire coven in danger (e.g. everyone had to drink the poison). Between this and the above point it feels like someone is mad at Agatha for killing lots of witches over the years. Some people like the Salem Seven.

The trials so far have tested the witch's ability in the craft (potion-making, protection) and how they work together. How does punishing or sacrificing Agatha align with the Road's test of "Burn and brew with coven true / And glory shall be thine" -- which we were just reminded of last week.

Jen calling and dismissing Billy as a familiar is... more mean-ness that I'd expect. You could make a case for her disliking Agatha, but the amount of venom in this moment towards the boy for trying is surprising considering she was trying to watch out for him not too long ago. Of course, it could be her frustration and fear in that moment boiling over.

Pretty much everything at the end after Billy snapping and going all dark and vengeful.

Ultimately we don't know what the Salem Seven can do. Sure they shriek like Nazgûl but turning into animals isn't the most threatening thing? So, bad writing and copium or is this show being truly tricksy and reality-bending?

[keisgirl]

ily but…; tsukishima kei

pairing; highschool!tsukishima kei x reader

wc; 0.5k

guys should i make a masterlist again

you see, tsukishima kei isn’t the type of boyfriend you would want. he loves you, but then he doesn’t really pick up cues.

it’s not that he’s oblivious. tsukishima notices everything. he’s sharp, observant, painfully so. but emotional nuances? they slip past him like water through a sieve. he doesn’t mean to hurt you. in fact, it’s the opposite: every sarcastic jab, every carefully worded critique, comes from a place of love. he just doesn’t know how to be soft about it.

you’re sitting on the floor of his room, textbooks scattered between you. tsukishima’s knees are tucked to his chest, one arm resting casually on top. he’s explaining a math problem, his tone steady, almost clinical. you don’t even remember asking for help with this one. maybe you didn’t.

"if you just carry this over here, it’s obvious," he says, pointing at your notebook. his brows furrow slightly, his lips pressing into a line. "how did you not see that?"

your throat tightens. it’s not the words, really. it’s the way he says them, so matter-of-fact, so distant. you press your pencil harder against the page, the graphite smudging under your hand.

"maybe i’m just stupid," you mumble.

his head snaps up at that. "don’t say that."

"why not? you’re the one always pointing it out."

he leans back against his bed frame, exhaling sharply through his nose. "i’m not-" he pauses, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "i’m not saying you’re stupid. i’m just saying you’re not trying hard enough."

you laugh, but it’s humorless, bitter. "right. because that’s exactly what i need to hear right now."

his eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. "i’m trying to help you."

"and i didn’t ask for it!" the words come out louder than you intended, echoing in the small room. tsukishima flinches, just barely, but it’s enough to make you feel a pang of guilt.

you drop your pencil, letting it roll across the floor. "sometimes i just… i just want a hug from you, kei," you say softly, staring at the notebook in front of you. "thank you for tutoring me when i say i’m not good enough, but maybe all i want is comfort. not another teacher."

the silence that follows is heavy, suffocating. you can feel his gaze on you, but you don’t look up.

"i…" he starts, but his voice falters. tsukishima kei, the boy who always has something to say, is at a loss for words.

when you finally glance up, he’s looking away, his hand gripping the edge of his bed. his lips part as if he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. instead, he shifts slightly, leaning forward until his fingers brush yours. it’s tentative, hesitant—like he’s afraid of getting it wrong.

"i’m not good at this," he admits quietly. his voice is softer now, the edges of his usual sarcasm smoothed out. "i don’t… know how to be what you need."

your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat. "just try, kei," you whisper. "that’s all i want."

he exhales, his hand finally closing over yours. his grip is awkward, a little too firm, but it’s something. it’s enough.

"okay," he says. "i’ll try."

and for the first time, you feel like he really means it.

[yurinaa-world]

"𝐼'𝓂 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒟𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Moze, Jing Yuan, Jiaoqiu, & Sunday x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: not recognizing them while drunk

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, Alcohol, Spelling mistakes

𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

“Enough drinking for you.” Taking the shot glass from your hand—it filled to the brim with hard liquor and it was obvious that if you kept on drinking at this pace, you were going to have the worst hangover in the morning—“Excuse me, who do you think you are—“ you slurred out, annoyed by him.

he takes your hand and tries to take it away, leading to you snatching your arm back. “How dare you touch me! I have a husband,"

“I’m your husband.” He just sighs at your drunkenness, he really should have prevented this. “Please, I know what my husband looks like, he’s not as ugly looking as you.” Wow, he's ugly to you now?  His eyes can’t help but twitch.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, deciding just to play along and use this to his advantage. “Do you even know where your husband is?” Like clockwork, you just start looking around, head sharply turning side to side.

No husband in sight. Stranger in front of you. And No way to get your husband.

“Well…” you just start to panic. that’s his qui, again grabbing you but this time deciding to put you over his shoulder, with your complaints completely ignored, “I know your husband, I’ll take you to him.”

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈"

Mind hazy and incoherent for any sober thought, staring at the little table blankly, taking the little shot glass to your lips, the more you drink the funnier it gets. 

“Seems like all that drinking has caught up to you, dear.”

Your half-lidded eyes finally looked up to take in Jing yuan in front of you, yet for how drunk you are you haven’t even realized it was Jing yuan, in your eyes it was only just a creepy man. 

“I have a husband, and I’m not your dear.” You slur at him, going to pour yourself another drink, yet he takes the bottle from you before you can even grab it.

“Your husband? He doesn’t have to know.”

“Do you even know who my husband is?”

“Hmm? Who is your husband?” Now he’s just messing with you. Glaring at him with a smirk on your drunk face, “He’s the handsome general, of course, you couldn’t stand a chance.”

“He isn’t with you right now, is he? He wouldn’t have to know about us.” He puts down the bottle in your hand and his hand goes to intertwine yours.

“He doesn’t have to know because I’m not giving you a chance!” You rip your hand away from his grasp, “Wait until Jing Yuanhears about this.” you mutter under your breath while going to grab your phone to call him—he already knows where it's going to end.

“Tell him in great detail about my shameless actions.”

“I will!”

𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

“My husband wouldn’t like it if you touched my waist like that.”

Sputtering while Jiaoqiu has you lying your head against his shoulder with his arm around your waist to keep you upright. 

He’s taking care of you! Honestly, without him, he already knows that you’re going to wake up with a killer headache because you thought it was such a good idea to drink till you can’t even recognize his face or voice.

“Your husband wouldn’t want you to be sick because of all of your drinking.” Gently put a glass of water in your hands, Ensure you don’t drop it on yourself or anywhere else. 

“Well….I guess you're right but are you sure my husband will be fine with this? I don’t want him to be jealous.” 

Still so cute, how can he not take advantage of this situation to have some fun and mess with you a little, you’ll be so embarrassed when you’re sober and he’s planning to soak up everything.

“You must love your husband that much to be worrying over what he might think.”

“Of course I do! He’s very hardworking and is good at helping, not to mention he’s very handsome…” you start to gush over him, going off about every detail you like about him, his hair to the small things he does for you.

“So many things you like about him? I’m quite jealous of you.”

“You better be! He’s my husband, and no one else will have him.”

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝒶𝓀 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎"

“I miss my Sunday...”

You’ve been whining in his ear about how you miss ‘Sunday’ for a while now, yet too intoxicated to even realize that it was Sunday you were clinging onto.

“Dear—“

“I told you not to call me that! I’ll make sure Sunday has your head for being a creep! You know what to call him right now!”

You whine yet here you are clinging onto him, and then switching up by telling him orders that he can’t follow because of your intense grip on him.

He really shouldn’t have left you alone with the consequence of you getting very drunk. The quick changes of your emotions just makes Sunday unsure of what to do with you.

Pressing the side of face against his chest, before silently sulking? “What’s the matter? Why are you sulking?” He worried, patting your head as if you were a child. “I just realized that you probably don’t know where he is since he’s always so busy…”

“How about I take care of you first, and then we find your husband.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[imsofreakingtired]

idk if this might be off the table but can you write about sevika finding reader on the bridge about to jump off of it but she gets there just in time

Feel free to ignore if you don’t like it !

thank you for the request anon </3

disclaimer: this piece is not meant to trivialize, romanticize, or dramatize mental illness. i write these to cope and draw the content matter from my own experiences. if you are personally going through something like this, please please reach out and seek help!! tumblr is not a viable replacement for therapy!! and as always if this content is triggering or upsetting for you, pls scroll away and take care of yourself 💙💙

don't let me go

content warning(s): heavy angst, depictions of depression and self-destructive ideation (hurt/COMFORT this time tho trust 🙏)

"this world is a wasteland where nothing can grow if it weren't for you, i'd be here all alone i know in my heart this is where we belong this world is a wasteland... don't let me go."

~~~

*context: reader and sevika have been friends since childhood and now both work under silco.*

~~~

“Sevika,” you say. 

She grunts. 

“What’s your dream?” 

“My dream?” 

“What do you want. I mean really want.” 

Sevika rolls a broken bottle under her boot before pulling back her foot and kicking it into the river. It takes off with a sharp clinking sound, the music of breaking glass, before sailing through the air and plunging into the river water.

“Kill my old man,” she says.

“Okay, second to that.” 

She looks at you. “What d’you mean?” 

You stare back. She is only eighteen but looks older than her years, already tired of the world and its cruelties. She has grown too quickly for her young mind. Her body is hardened to the undercity. You love her with a hopelessness deeper than the black river dividing Zaun and Piltover. 

You ask again, “what do you want?”

She flashes you a rare crooked smile. “To live with you up there.” Pointing in the direction of Piltover. 

“In Topside?”

“No. In the sky.” 

There’s a pause. Then you say to her, “you’re so stupid.” 

“What do you want?” She returns. 

“Me?” I want you. The unspoken words tumble to the tip of your tongue, and you swallow them again. 

“I want a fucking break,” you say instead.

“Hunh.” She kicks another bottle. “We’ll get it. When Zaun is free, we’ll get it.” 

It isn’t quite what you mean, but you don’t try to explain yourself. You don’t tell her that she is the only reason you’re here, even when it sometimes feels like your will to live is clinging on by the fingernails. You don’t tell her that the sound of her voice anchors you when you start spiralling, guilt-ridden and full of self-hatred. You don’t tell her that the greatest fight in your life is not against the enforcers but with yourself. You don’t tell her that you fight every day because of her. 

Because you know she doesn’t fight for you. She fights for Zaun. 

~~~

Sevika watches you closely, though you never realize it. You have been acting strange nowadays, working for days on end without sleep or not coming into work at all. Silco has said nothing about it, because you’re one of his most prized henchwomen, but Sevika can sense something is off. You barely speak two words together unless it’s necessary, and when you do it sounds like your mind is far away. You look tired all the time and sometimes you disappear altogether, returning an hour later as if nothing had happened. And only Sevika notices the bloody cuticles, the swelling around your eyelids. 

One day she corners you in the passageway outside Silco’s office. 

“Are you sick?” she demands. It comes out more brusquely than she intends. She is mortified at her own concern for you. She doesn’t want you to see how much she worries for you, the effect you have on her. 

You look up at her in alarm. “No,” you say quickly. Too quickly. 

“Then why…” she searches for the right words, struggling not to betray herself. “Don’t lie to me,” she says at last. “Something’s wrong.” 

You can see right through her tough façade. You can see the concern in her frowning eyes. And all of a sudden you’re filled with deadly hope and an overwhelming desire to let go. Break down. Tell her everything.

But then you remember that most likely, she’s only concerned with the impact this may have on your usefulness to Silco—to Zaun. You’re terrified she might discover your condition and tell Silco to fire you, that you might be holding them back, that your emotional instability might make your jobs sloppy. 

So you do what you do best. You swallow your words. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I’m sorry.” 

Her frown deepens. “I said don’t lie.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, either.” 

“I have work to do, Sevika.” You try to move past her but she reaches out and stops you with her mechanical arm. 

“You used to tell me everything,” Sevika says. Was that a trace of sadness in her tone? Was it your imagination, or was there a softer look in her eyes? 

“There’s nothing to tell,” you say, and each word feels like a dagger in your own heart. “I swear.” 

You duck under her arm and walk swiftly away from her. 

~~~

It is a clear night and you and Sevika are on the rooftop of the Last Drop, sharing a bottle of wine. You can hear Vander and Silco arguing inside the bar, most likely on the topic of politics. They are already dreaming big, thinking past the long fight to overcome, visualizing a brilliant and abstract future. 

You do not see a future. On bad days you see nothing. 

On the good days…

Sevika takes a drink from the bottle and slings an arm around your shoulder. She can be casually affectionate when she’s in the mood, and you cherish these moments. You lean your head on her shoulder. Her skin is warm under her shirt. 

“What would you do if I died?” you ask her. 

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. But you feel her grip on you tighten. 

“If I lost you,” she says finally, “how do you think I’ll go on?”

~~~

When Sevika finds your note, the first thing she thinks of is that conversation on the roof, years ago. She has not forgotten a single thing you ever told her, and the recollection fills her with a terror she’s never known before. 

The slip of paper in her hand reads, you don’t need me anymore. Thank you. For all the moments you gave me before. 

Sevika doesn’t even stop to put on her cloak. She just turns around and runs. 

She’s too late. She’s too late. She’s too late. 

She tears down the street, pushing people carelessly out of the way. As she runs she activates the Shimmer cartridge in her mechanical arm. A hot rush, the familiar jolt, the searing pink in her vision. She runs faster, faster until the buildings are a blur around her, until the sweat flicks off her face. 

Between gasping breaths, like a mantra to you, she whispers, “Please. Please. Please.” 

~~~

It is too late to cry, it is too late to turn back, it is too late to think. Your chest is tight with all you remember. The waters churn under you. 

The only person in the world you have hung on for is Sevika. You tell yourself she will move on quickly. You tell yourself that your death would not make much of a difference to her. What was one person lost in the grand cause? Silco would be able to find a replacement in no time, and the great machinery of Zaun will continue to turn its weary gears. 

Sevika is now a part of that machine. Sevika will not miss you. 

You close your eyes and let your body fall forward. 

Someone screams your name, a raw desperate sound that doesn’t even sound human. 

A flash of rippling pink, a burning sensation around your waist, and then suddenly you’re on the ground. Someone’s arms are wrapped around you, someone’s voice is in your ear, and someone’s hot tears are falling into your hair. 

Sevika. 

Your eyes are shut because you’re afraid you’re already gone. You’re afraid if you open your eyes your senses will catch up with you, and Sevika will be replaced by the cold embrace of water, Sevika’s voice will become the rushing waves over your head. 

But she’s holding you still. She’s holding you so tight you can hardly breathe. She’s saying, over and over, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” 

And you can feel her heart pounding wildly against your ear, which is the only indication of how scared she actually is. 

You free your arms and wrap them around her neck. You let yourself break down. You cry until your chest feels like it’s tearing apart. She’s still holding you, her mech arm pressed into your back like a brace, and you cling to her tighter. 

“Don’t let me go,” you beg. “Oh god, don’t let me go.” 

“I won’t,” she says roughly, her voice shaking. “I never will.”

~~~

note: dear readers, i am sorry. 🥲

[rhiannonsknife]

could I put in a request for Lucy MacLean x Wasteland!reader? you both find shelter and you usually take first watch because you’re used to staying up late. Except Lucy has a habit of making your job harder than it has to be because she just starts yapping and won’t go to sleep right away. Take yesterday night for example, you underestimated her ability to run out of things to talk to you about and you lost about 2-3 hours of sleep because of it. Tonight, Lucy’s about 15 minutes into her yap session when you randomly ask her if she wants to have sex, she’s delighted at the idea and agrees. You wanna tire this woman out, what’s a more efficient method than giving her a few orgasms? (maybe even include this being Lucy’s first time being eaten out?)

── GUILTY PLEASURE

— summary: lucy won’t stop talking.

— warnings: kind of inexperienced!lucy. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni. this took me a month to edit but here we are.

the shelter you’d stumbled upon earlier isn’t much. it’s hardly anything at all: half a roof, crumbling walls, and a faint musty smell.

still, it seemed better than sleeping under the open sky where god knows what could catch you off guard. so, you decide to settle yourself near the door, leaning against the wall with your weapon in easy reach. first watch, as always.

and, as always, lucy is making it harder than it needs to be.

she’s sprawled on her bedroll a few feet away, her head propped on her pack like a makeshift pillow. the dim glow of the dying embers between you throws flickering shadows across her face, as she talks.

“-and, i mean, who even puts that much trust in a filtration system, you know?” she says, her tone exasperated. “it’s like, sure, the overseers say it’ll last forever, but what happens when the pipes get clogged? no backup system, no-“

you pinch the bridge of your nose, cutting her off before she can spiral any further into whatever story she’s telling you from her life in vault 33. “lucy-“

“what?”

“i thought we agreed you’d try to sleep during my watch!”

“we did,” she says, shifting to rest on her elbows now . never a good sign. “but you’re awake anyway, so it’s not like i’m interrupting anything. besides, you’re terrible at keeping yourself entertained. i’m doing you a favor!”

you give her a flat look. “i don’t need ‘to be entertained’. i need quiet!”

lucy scoffs. “quiet seems overrated. besides, what if something sneaks up on you? you’ll want me awake to watch your back.”

“that’s literally my job right now,” you deadpan, gesturing toward what once was a door.

“okay, fair,” she says with a shrug. “but what if you fall asleep? then we’re both screwed!”

you let your head fall back against the wall with a soft thud, staring at the cracked ceiling. “lucy, if i fall asleep, it’ll be because you spent all night talking about pipes and filtration systems instead of letting me do my job and i’ve bored myself to death!”

“i’m just saying, vault-tec could’ve planned better” lucy goes on after a short pause, like you’ve never asked her to stop at all. “like, one person on maintenance for an entire level? no wonder the water tasted weird that day!”

this has been your dynamic ever since you met her: lucy talking your ear off, filling the silence with anything and everything that comes to her mind.

“do you ever stop?” you ask, arching an eyebrow at her.

“not really,” lucy says, grinning. “another thing,” she leans forward slightly. “i get why you’re all about this ‘quiet’ thing, but maybe you’d actually enjoy these little watch shifts if you talked more. or, you know, let me help you stay awake!”

you scoff. “help me stay awake?”

“yeah,” she says. “like conversations, or games, or- i don’t know, literally anything but sitting there staring into the darkness like some broody protagonist in a bad holotape!”

“you’re unbelievable.” you laugh, despite yourself.

she beams, triumphant, and leans back again, her hands clasped behind her head. “you’re welcome.”

the wasteland beyond the door feels vast and empty, the moonlight barely illuminating the cracked ground and jagged ruins. you focus on the shadows, your grip tightening slightly on your rifle. lucy’s voice continues behind you, her words blending into the ambient hum of the night.

another ten minutes of this pass, your patience wearing thinner with every syllable; your initial plan to just wait for her to get sleepy doesn’t seem to be working.

“if i had been in charge of the vault party planning committee, there’s no way they would’ve run out that fast” she’s currently recalling. “it’s simple logistics. one crate for every-“

“lucy,” you interject, your voice flat.

“what?”

“are you ever going to go to sleep?”

“eventually,” she says with a shrug. “it’s not like i’m bothering you, right?”

you sigh, defeated. “you are absolutely bothering me,”

she ignores that completely, her tone turning thoughtful. “it’s kinda nice, though, isn’t it? i talk, you listen, we bond. i mean, sure, you don’t say much, but that’s probably because you’re so fascinated by what i have to say-“

“lucy…”

“-which i get! not everyone grew up in a vault, so my perspective is pretty-“

“lucy!”

she finally pauses. “yes?”

you turn fully, leaning your shoulder against the wall as you cross your arms. “do you want to have sex?”

the words hang in the air for a beat, and for once, lucy falls completely silent. you watch as her face cycles through surprise, confusion, and delight in rapid succession.

“wait, what?” she asks, already sitting up. “do i- are you serious?”

you shrug, trying to look nonchalant despite the heat creeping up your neck. “you’re not gonna sleep, and you’re definitely not gonna let me do my thing. i figure if i wear you out, i might actually get some peace and quiet tonight,”

lucy blinks at you, and then, once you’re fairly sure she will turn the insane offer down, she grins.

you‘ve thought about it before. not about sex, necessarily, but tamer things: you found yourself staring at lucy in the rare moments when she wasn’t chatting away, eyes studying her features whenever she hadn’t been looking your way. you thought about kissing her, too, about her body against yours and-

well, perhaps you had thought about sex with her.

you never figured out what vault dwellers like her learned about sex down there. only that, presumably, she does seem to know what you’re on about, judging by her enthusiasm.

“this is the best thing you’ve suggested so far,” she says, already tossing aside her blanket and crossing the small room to stand beside you.

lucy lingers above you for a moment, her eyes scanning over you as if weighing her next move. she takes her time. when she finally lowers herself into your lap, it’s with purpose, every movement measured. her weight presses into your thighs, grounding you in place, while her palms rest on your shoulders. lucy’s thumbs gently trace circles on your skin through your clothes as her eyes search yours.

to your surprise, you are the first to falter under her gaze, something lucy so clearly relishes. a satisfied glint flickers in her eyes just before her hands glide up, fingers curling around your jaw as she cups your face. without warning, she tilts your head back, guiding your gaze to hers again, brushing absently over the corner of your lips.

“don’t look away now,” she murmurs, a teasing rasp, her breath ghosting over your skin.

her thumb and forefinger catch your chin, holding it firmly as she hovers there, close, her lips parting ever so slightly as if to speak.

just when you think you can’t stand it any longer, lucy finally leans in.

her lips meet yours, soft at first, almost tentative, like she's waiting for some kind of reaction. she grazes the sides of your face, memorizing the feel of you beneath her touch. the kiss deepens quickly, the tension from earlier bleeding away into something much softer, more urgent.

her confidence only falters when she first tries to grind down against your pelvis, searching for a friction you cannot provide. you’re not sure what she had expected, or if she’s moving on instinct, but this is when it seems to sink in that lucy is in no position to fully take the lead here.

“are you a virgin?” you blurt at her puzzled expression.

“no!” lucy says, shaking her head. “no, it’s not- i got married remember…?” she grimaces, recalling the events that had followed her rather short lived ‘marriage’ in vault 33.

“okay, so…” you start. “what’s going on here, then?”

“i-” her gaze flicks between you and some point over your shoulder. her cheeks flush. “i just- well, you know, it’s not that different, right?”

“lucy…” your voice softens, even as you fight back a laugh. “do you actually know what you’re doing?”

“yes!” she says immediately, too quickly. then she hesitates. “well…sort of?”

you give her a look, and her face crumples into a sheepish grimace.“okay, fine, no,” lucy admits, throwing her hands up in defeat. “but i wasn’t going to say that out loud! i thought i could just…figure it out as we went.”

you sigh, though there’s no real annoyance in it. “you’ve been with someone before. why didn’t you-”

“because it’s different!” she interrupts, her voice rising again. “i mean, for one thing, he wasn’t…” she waves her hand vaguely in your direction, her words trailing off like she’s afraid to finish the thought.

“a woman?” you supply.

“yes, exactly,” lucy nods. then, as if to clarify: “not that that’s bad! it’s just- i don’t really know what i’m supposed to- how i’m supposed to…” her voice fades again, and she presses her lips together, clearly frustrated with herself.

“lucy,” you say gently, drawing her attention back to you. “it’s not something you’re supposed to just know. especially if…” you pause, hesitant to touch on something that might sting. “especially if it wasn’t…encouraged where you grew up,”

she frowns, her brows pulling together. “yeah, well, vault 33 wasn’t exactly a…bastion of sexual enlightenment! marriage, reproduction, carrying on the bloodline…i suppose it was always about the next generation, never about- this!”

lucy sighs.

“and, look,” her words come in a rush now, like she’s determined to explain everything before you can judge her. “it’s not like i have a problem with it! i mean, clearly, i don’t, because we’re, uh, doing…whatever this is. i just…i guess i thought it’d be easier to figure out!”

you reach up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. all your previous annoyance has melted away, replaced by a need to show her that this -sex- could be about so much more than just reproduction. “you don’t have to figure it out all at once, you know. we’ve got time!”

lucy’s gaze meets yours, hesitant but hopeful. “we do?”

“yeah,” you say softly, your fingers lingering against her cheek. “you don’t have to take the lead here, either. just…trust me, okay?”

“okay,” she says quietly. “okay, i trust you,”

“good,” you lean up, brushing your lips against hers, slow and careful. her shoulders relax immediately, and when she kisses you back, it’s sweeter than before: less frantic, more curious, like she’s letting herself feel everything for the first time.

you kiss her slowly at first, moving your lips in sync with lucy’s. she’s following your lead now, letting you set the pace of your mouths. she still seems as eager though, and when she starts moving her hips again, you’re prepared:

instead of your pelvis, you maneuver her so that she’s grinding on your thigh, finally giving her access to the friction she’d been searching for.

“o-oh-“ lucy mewls softly, her head lulling back as she ruts against you for a little while. you can feel the warmth radiating from between her legs already, damp through the fabric of her suit.

taking it off will be a risk, of course: stripping naked would make a quick escape damn near impossible. but you decide that, as you feel her arousal drag over your leg, lucy maclean is worth every risky decision that might come with it.

so, as she moves against you, as high-pitched moans start spilling from her throat, you reach for the zipper of the blue suit. it parts smoothly, the soft scraping of the interlocking metal echoing in the otherwise quiet space.

you look up at lucy, only vaguely aware of the white bralette that comes into view now that you’re unzipping her clothes.

you don’t want to make her uncomfortable by blatantly staring but the skin that’s revealed to you makes it impossibly hard. so, instead, you choose another way to show off your appreciation: without tearing your eyes from hers, you lean in and press your mouth to the flesh between her collarbones, then move lower.

lucy gasps, her lips parted and her brows slightly furrowed. it’s her who peels the sleeves of her jumpsuit from her arms, who lets it pool by her hips and reaches for you all over again. who urges you closer by the back of your head with one hand, while the other grabs the hem of her underwear.

“wow,” you gasp, dumbfounded when lucy -your lucy- tugs the bra upwards enough to free her bare chest from the restrictive fabric. she smiles, shyly, and tilts her head.

her nails sink into your shoulder the second your mouth closes around her nipple; she’s responsive there, more than you ever were, more than you thought she’d be. so responsive that lucy starts moving her hips more frantic when you roll her other nipple between your index and thumb.

and still…”more,” she whines softly, greedily, dragging her soaked center across your flexed muscle. “i want you to touch me,” she breathes. “please”

you trail slow, open mouthed kisses down her torso, your hands gliding over the curve of her back. you press lower, as far as you can reach, until your neck twists at an almost painful angle and lucy's hand finds the back of your head, cradling it gently.

that’s when you shift, moving her body so she’s leaning against the wall and you’re positioned between her spread legs.

lucy watches you through curious eyes, studying your every move as you get to kiss down her body more comfortably. you hold the eye contact, despite the need to stare at her chest (her nipples still hard and wet with your spit) until you have to pull the zipper lower and peel the fabric from her legs.

you slide it off and tuck it beneath her, allowing lucy to rest on it rather than the dirty floor, leaving her in a pair of panties matching the white bralette.

lucy’s body shudders as you kiss back up the expanse of her legs, the muscles in her thighs tensing. obviously, you don’t stop there: you crawl up further and further until you’re almost at the apex, reaching for the waistline of the underwear and-

her legs clamp together suddenly, forcing you back.

“what-“ lucy stammers, unsure. “what are you doing?”

“i was gonna-“ you lick your lips, dropping your hands to her hips. of course lucy has no idea what you were going to do. “can i-“ you consider your words, unsure how to explain it so she’ll understand. “-put my mouth there?”

lucy’s eyes widen. “you want to-”

“please,” you whisper. “please, can i eat you out?”

lucy -her own want betraying her- whines, her hips jerking towards your mouth. from here, between her legs, you can see the wet patch of arousal that has soaked through her underwear.

“okay,” she pants, nodding frantically. “okay, yes. please!”

immediately, you reach out, hook your fingers underneath them and pull the panties down her thighs. you take your time making sure to securely place them in one of the suit’s pockets so they won’t get dirty, before finally turning your gaze back to lucy, who’s waiting in anticipation.

she lets you take in the sight with a nervous look on her face, biting the side of her index.

your fingertips absentmindedly trace the skin, watching the way lucy’s body parts for you. she is beautiful, endlessly beautiful, glistening with arousal, and framed by coarse hair.

“i’m sorry, i should’ve-“ she begins, but you immediately hush her.

“you’re beautiful,”

lucy inhales breathlessly, her fingers forming a v-shape and spreading herself open for you to see.

“fuck-“ you mutter under your breath. lucy’s clit is throbbing.

slowly, you make your way up her thigh. in response, lucy buries her fingers in your hair, sighs softly as she invites you in, and spreads her legs wider.

you nudge her skin with your nose, nipping on the tender flesh.

the first time you put your mouth on lucy, her legs close around your head. her jaw goes slack and her brows furrow in concentration, adjusting to the new sensation.

you start with featherlight kisses to her swollen clit, each making her buck her hips against your face.

“o-oh!” lucy stammers from above, looking almost confused, surprised by how good your lips feel as they brush over her. “that feels so good,” she breathes finally, her body rolling down against your tongue.

“yeah?” you murmur, soothingly wrapping your arms around her thighs to hold her open as you circle her clit with the tip of your tongue.

“mhm,” lucy nods, but it comes out more like a whine at a particular good press of your lips. just as lucy buries her fingers in your hair, seemingly wanting to push you closer, you push her apart and lick a broad stroke right through her, getting your first actual taste.

instinctively, your eyes roll back, the lewd moan that rips from your throat drowned out by her skin.

“g-god-“ she stutters. “that’s- ah- good.”

unbeknownst to lucy, the sweet praise goes straight to your center. if you had a pillow, or anything useful around, you’d shove it between your legs and grind on it while you eat her out.

but, regardless of your own lack of relief, her words encourage you to lick deeper, to move faster inside of her and show her all that she’s been missing out on. you alternate between fucking your tongue into her, and wrapping your lips around her clit to suck on it, all while lucy pulls your closer, guiding your tongue to where she needs it the most.

you gladly let her, ignoring the occasional sting of your scalp at sharper tugs.

for a while, you eat lucy out like that, getting lost in each of her desperate attempts to stifle her sighs and her taste in your mouth. her words have morphed into muffled babbles above you, incoherent sounds of pleasure.

it doesn’t take long at all until she is getting closer: her head has lulled back against her bag, her moans come out more ragged and breathless, and the leg she has thrown over your shoulder trembles with tension as she pushes her heel down on your spine to urge you closer.

instead of teasing lucy, you go right for it.

your lips close around her clit again, just as two of your fingers sink into her. squirming above you, lucy mindlessly grinds her hips to your face, aching for that release. she chants little ‘ah, ah, ah’ sounds, her cunt tightening around your fingers so much it’s hard for you to thrust them in and out of her.

both your nose and your chin are covered in lucy’s wetness, glistening in the dimly lit space as her hands curl to fists in your hair.

“i feel…” she begins, trailing off. you’re not sure she knows what she’s feeling. or maybe she’s in disbelief because you only have your hands and mouth to use on her and still it’s enough.

either way, you encourage her, putting your thumb in place of your lips, rubbing her clit with the wet pad of your finger to keep her on the edge. “that’s it,” you mumble.

lucy chokes on her noise of approval and just nods her head instead. “yes,” she whispers, over and over, like a prayer. “yes, yes, yes! i’m gonna-“

that’s all of a warning you get before her whole body tenses. her lips are parted in a silent scream, her hips jerk forward once more before it all comes crashing down on lucy. the sound she makes is somewhat between a cry and a moan of your name and she arches her back from the ground when she cums.

you manage to tear your gaze away from her convulsing cunt to catch a glimpse of her, so lost in the haze of her pleasure: lucy’s eyes are shut tightly, her head thrown back so much that the entire expanse of her neck is on display for you.

her walls tighten around your fingers, trying to suck you in deeper, to keep you in place while she trembles with the force of the orgasm she’s riding out on you.

only when her body has stopped shaking, you lean back, not wanting to push her too far. she’s already given you more than enough.

“phew,” lucy says once she’s caught her breath. it’s so ridiculously lucy you have to bite back a laugh. “is it- is it always like this?” she asks by the time you’ve crawled back up her body and slumped down by her side.

you reach for her, not even thinking about it properly until you’re already cradling her face, your thumb grazing over her jaw soothingly. lucy doesn’t seem to mind.

“no,” you manage quietly, taking in her features in the dark. “no, it’s never been like this.”

luct turns her head to look at you, her expression open. she’s still flushed, her hair mussed, her lips kiss-swollen, and she’s smiling.

“i liked it,” she says, voice hushed. then, as if realizing how simple that sounds, she rushes to clarify: “not just because of- well, you know…but because it was you!”

you swallow hard, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. “yeah?”

lucy nods, shifting so she’s curled against your side, her fingers idly tracing patterns against your arm. “yeah.” a beat passes, then: “i think i wanna do that again. like…a lot.”

you laugh outright at that, tilting your head to press a kiss to her temple. “you really are something else, maclean.”

she hums, pleased, before shifting closer, tucking herself against you like she belongs there. you don’t realize how quiet it’s gotten until lucy is fast asleep in your arms.

[xyfanficarchive]

headcanons: calling up your mouthwashing bf to come over when you’re sick <3

because i’m sick.

ft. curly, jimmy, and daisuke

its my first time writing daisuke… idk brother but i had ideas for him so

Curly:

-this sweet, loving man is on the scene to come to your aid asap. like it’s his destiny to be your sicknurse. he loves being there to care for you

-he shows up with everything: warm blankets, hes got cold and flu medicine, he brought your favourite sweater of his for you to wear, little snacks, a thermometer to take your temperature

-if you’re lucky, he asked his mum to make soup, and he brought a serving or two. the man can’t really cook. he had a lovely mother who fed him and then spent way too much time in space eating prepackaged meals and slop assembled from gelatin water and sweetener.

-but her soup is not something you can just whip up really fast; so if not, he’ll try cooking anyways - an easy recipe. pre made broth cartons and all that. might even go for the pre packaged dry soup sachets. he’s aware of his culinary shortcomings. but it’s made with the utmost love.

-he does make a great cup of tea. nice, warm, and sweet to soothe your sore throat.

-he’s typically a well dressed man but he shows up in comfy clothes. he’s ready to lock down and cuddle with you for as long as you need, on the bed, or on the couch watching a movie, something lighthearted and low stakes. he’s a furnace, theres no better man to lie with when you’re shivering from the fever and cant get warm.

-he’ll gently massage your achey body, the man has magic hands, you feel so much better.

-when the fever breaks and you’re sweaty and flushed he’s there to help strip you out of the thick layers and dab cool water on your face and neck and chest

-he knows he’s gonna get sick. but he doesn’t mind that much, its all worth it to be there and to show you how much he cares <3

Jimmy:

-not gonna lie, his first thought is “what the fuck, i don’t wanna get sick, i can’t afford that shit.” he almost doesn’t want to come. cause when he gets sick, he always has to weather the sickness all alone.

-he doesn’t eat that well on earth. so maybe he’s a lil malnourished, his immune system isn’t the strongest. when he gets sick he’s fucking down for the count.

-but he zips it up, and thinking for a second more he realizes that he was the first one you called for help and comfort and he just. pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs. “…just hang on, I’ll be right there.” he does care about you, when it comes down to it.

-and imagine your surprise when you amble weakly to the door and he’s there, with a bottle of nyquil and, a bag of vegetables, some pasta, and is that a whole uncooked chicken?! he dug deep into his coffers to get ingredients to make you real chicken soup. if that doesnt show you how much jimmy loves you idk what will.

-he’s no 5 star chef, but he can cook pretty well. he can follow a recipe no problem. there were a lot of “fend for yourself” nights growing up. sometimes he’d even save his own money as a kid to buy ingredients to make a real proper meal.

-(and also slaving away over the stove for hours gives him an excuse to keep his distance as much as possible, man does not want to get infected.)

-he’s still gonna sit with you, let you lay your head on his lap while he waits for the soup to all simmer together. stroking your hair while you’re under a pile of blankets, both watching nothing tv just to pass the time and fill the silence. you can kinda smell the soup, what you can smell is rich and delicious

-you both eat his incredible hearty nourishing soothing soup and cuddle on the couch when you start getting cold. and when he starts thinking it’s time to leave he realizes you fell asleep on his chest. fuck, i guess he’s stuck now.

-he really, really hopes you’ll return the favour in a week’s time when he’s sick as a dog. (you better go nurse that man and make him feel so cared for)

Daisuke:

-the man is thrilled. hes like AWWW YEAH DAISUKE TO THE RESCUE COMING TO NURSE MY BOO BACK TO HEALTH. he’s so happy you asked him for help. he’s determined to make you feel better.

-he really does the absolute most. he pulls up with like, several different kinds of medicine, he’s got games and movies to pass the time, he’s got so many snacks and junk food. he was at the store thinking, what food always makes me feel better? and filled his cart. there was a get well soon balloon at the checkout line so you know he bought it last second.

-he’s a little. much. he’s just enthusiastic about making you feel better. he’s going through the whole laundry list of everything he brought while your sluggish sick brain is in circles trying to keep up. and not gonna lie, you’re a little too fatigued to play video games.

-so you’re lying there next to him under the blankets watching him play video games and munching on like. chips and candy and stuff. coughing and dripping from your nose. kinda drifting in and out of sleep. he’s doing his very best to keep it down. but just being near him is so comforting.

-eventually. the junk food just is not cutting it. and your mouth kinda hurts from the hard salty snacks and your tongue is coated from the candy. “daisuke, baby… did you bring any real food?” and you sound all weak and hoarse and youre aching all over. he’s like. OH, shit. yah i guess chips arent the most nourishing food for when youre sick huh…. he sits there thinking for a moment and then the lightbulb goes off

-“hold on babe, i know just the thing, i’ll be right back!!” and he rushes out. on the way to the grocery store again he’s calling up his mom like MAMA how do you make that soup you gave me when i was sick as a kid???

-he comes back and whips up estrellita soup in no time, because its just like, chicken broth and some salt and little star pasta. and he looks so damn pleased handing you the bowl. how the fuck can you feel bad when he’s smiling like that over this bowl of tiny little stars.

-he’s so happy watching you eat his childhood sick soup. he spends the night, all he wants is to make you feel better, he doesnt even think once about getting sick himself.

[lsunstreakerl]

the latest chapter of SH! 💛 charles going feral over the not-even-real-possibility of lewis adding max to his collection of blond WDC champions and also just thinking about charles pretty much pissing all over HIS red bull golden boy, that really hits the spot! thank you!

but also in another ask you said that max may consider the whole eye injury water under the bridge but charles not, and that made me think of the grudge you can hold onto someone over them hurting the people you love and how hard it’s to let go. In this case clearly lewis isn’t at fault but i’m wondering of how hard it has been for charles to deal with those negative thoughts in a high pressure environment. i know you mostly feel comfortable writing from max’s pov but any chance we can get a bit into charles’ mind?

Hi anon! I meant to respond to this much earlier but it got stuck in my brain and actually manifested as a little snippet, so here's a tiny peek behind the curtain! hopefully it's a little bit more insight? feel free to ask more questions if you have them :)

Charles is trying not to grit his teeth, though if the glare Silvia is sending his way is any indication, he's failing.

They're getting ready for the fan stage, and Charles keeps checking his phone, making sure he isn't missing any messages from Max.

They're in Monaco for the race, and normally it is one of Charles' favorite races, and Max was supposed to be here in the garage today, but he'd had a flare-up this morning, dry heaving and dizzy. Charles hadn't wanted to leave him, but Max had gotten decently close to biting his head off, shoving him to the doorway.

"If you want to be worried I cannot stop you, but at least be driving while you are doing it."

Now, though-

Charles isn't sure how he's meant to do this fanstage. He's been civil with Lewis, hasn't let his roiling resentment sneak into their interactions, professional or personal, but it's only a matter of time.

It's harder on days like today, where Charles has left his boyfriend sick at home, suffering from something that many very well never leave him, when Max could be- should be here, racing with them, racing with Charles.

Everyone has idolized Lewis at some point in their lives, and Charles is no different, had admittedly been excited to find out he was joining the team, but the end of last season, and this one-

It's left a sour taste on his tongue. He doesn't hold Lewis on a pedestal anymore, how can he, when he has slipped into Charles' home, driving the color that belongs to Charles, belongs to Ferrari, refuses to address his legacy with Max the same way he refuses to talk about any other rivals.

Charles can't stand it. He couldn't care less about Nico and Seb- well, maybe a little bit about Seb- but to do the same to Max. Charles' Max, the Max that fought his way onto the grid, fought his way through the hate, fought himself into a competitive car, and a team that loved him, the Max that deserves to be on the grid today-

To see Lewis instead, who has been driving since before Max and Charles were on the grid, and still is, it makes his fingers curl.

Maybe he's just having a bad day. He knows he needs to pull the nice boy face back on, but he's having trouble finding it, when the car is competitive this year, when he and Lewis are both bringing home points.

It doesn't matter, at the end of the day, what Lewis is capable of, because he is driving for Ferrari, but he is not Ferrari, doesn't have rosso corsa beating fast through his veins, doesn't have the prancing horse as a thundering heartbeat.

He's a Mercedes boy, a wolf at heart, and that will ruin him, here. Ferrari does not take wolves. Ferrari takes sacrifices, bleating lambs, brought to the alter young and innocent, and only the most devoted get to live, get to have the honor of bringing the team to glory, the privilege of representing the legacy. Only the most treasured become the shining eye of the tifosi, and to get it all at once, to be a model driver, a living breathing manifestation of the Scuderia- it only comes around once every few generations of drivers.

Seb couldn't do it, and neither could Fernando. Lewis will not be capable either.

Charles has it.

It may not have been intentional, but Max has left Charles a mantle, a legacy, one final way to etch their names together forever, intertwined in a way no media or sports magazine could ever brush past, like so much of their lives and careers, tangled together to the very end.

Charles Leclerc will not let Lewis Hamilton get his eighth title.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, gives him a friendly squeeze.

"Hey man, you ready?"

Charles checks his posture, unclenches his jaw, and smiles at Lewis, but there's nothing friendly about it. It's the most Charles will let himself have, tiny little slips in the mask, unsettling for Lewis and unnoticeable for anyone else around them.

"Of course."

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#59: The Eternal Love (1.06)

What The Ones Who Live made clear is that even before this world belongs to those who can fight, it really belongs to the ones who love. The ones who don’t let this world permanently change or destroy their ability to love. And so of course that means this world belongs to Richonne. 😌👌🏽

And Rick and Michonne’s indestructible everlasting love is at the foundation of this finale’s explosive final act 💥❤️...

The events of the bridge in season 9 and the devastating aftermath that kept Rick and Michonne apart for years have now led them to know that there are ways in which they won’t always be the ones who live. But even though they won’t literally live forever, they know their love will. Their love is eternal. 🥹

Just when all seems lost, Richonne sees Beale step out of the tent and they make a run for it. Michonne tells Rick to pull the flag down over them as she douses them in liquid to fend off the effects of the explosion.

Pearl is in shock seeing Walker Beale and before she can fully process it, the bombs and gas explode, instantly killing all those CRM higher-ups…except Pearl somehow. 🤔 Now, outside of plot armor, I'm not exactly sure of a plausible explanation for how Thorne survived this with how close and unprotected she was. But we move. 🤷🏽‍♀️

gif cred: @nerd4music

The base is smothered in that chlorine gas and the CRM soldiers have turned into walkers. Rick and Michonne are okay as they stay under the flag and are covered by the water. Pearl shows up with a mask still on the prowl and Rick tells Michonne that he’ll rush Pearl for her gas mask while Michonne grabs the other one.

Michonne asks, “Why you?” And Rick replies, “You’ve got the sword. We go?” And Michonne assents, saying, “We go.” It's a small thing, but I like how this moment always reminds me of their Say Yes scene when Rick tells Michonne he gave her eight walkers to take out because she has the sword.

Next, Rick and Pearl get into a fight and Pearl yells that he destroyed their chance and "destroyed the whole world." Which Pearl, ma'am, that's a little much. The CRM is not the world. As Rick passionately said in ep 1, this isn’t everything.

Pearl and Rick continue to fight and neither are holding back. Pearl starts to get the upper hand but then she grabs Rick’s hair and you already know how Rick feels when someone tries to touch something that belongs to Michonne - so he has to yeet her.

gif cred: @nerd4music

When he tosses Pearl, he gets surrounded by CRM walkers. There’s something symbolic about Rick being surrounded by these masked CRM walkers. They’re like the embodiment of the dead soldier Rick lived a long time as and how the CRM was constantly trying to consume him. They tried to turn him into just another lifeless member of their force and now they try to turn him into another lifeless delt. 

Pearl looks like she’s trying to aim her gun at Rick but then she joins the long list of people who learn the golden rule - never come for Rick in front of Michonne. You’ll get handled everytime. 💯 So sure enough, Michonne approaches and takes a swing at Pearl with Beale's sword.

I gotta hand it to Lesley having to take on a role where you go toe to toe with both Rick and Michonne. Thorne had to go at two heavy hitters back to back. 😅

gif cred: ricksmarlene/nerd4music

Now, Pearl's fight with Michonne goes a lil different because she doesn’t ever get the upper hand in this one.

Pearl says, “You were the one he was always trying to get to. How did you get to him?” I like that she says, always trying to get to. She knows Rick was real relentless in his pursuits to get to Michonne. 👌🏽

And then one thing Michonne is never afraid to do is tell you about yourself so, knowing what she knows about Pearl from Rick, Michonne says, “I didn’t give up. I didn’t give me up like you did.”

According to Richonne, there is always time to throw a little shade. And as Pearl has tried them both, not even poisonous gas was gonna stop Michonne from letting Pearl know...

But also, I like Michonne noting how she didn’t give up and didn’t give herself up because Michonne knows if you lose yourself you lose your way. She knows it from personal experience, as we saw at the start of her TWD journey.

It makes sense that Michonne was the only character in TOWL who refused to give herself up. Her briefly having to be Dana was like a more external version of the way the CRM internally makes everyone feel like they have to trade who they are to be what the CRM expects them to be.

While Michonne tried to play along to honor Rick’s request for five seconds, she ultimately decided that this place does not get to change her because what they make you is a cog in their machine and so detached from who you are at your core. Again, when you give in to that you lose yourself and then you lose your way.

And considering Michonne's way is meant to lead her back to her babies she was never going to let them take her from her. Then once she found her husband, she was also never going to let them take Rick from her again either.

Even when Michonne left that apartment in ep 4, while I think she was always going to make a choice that led her back to her kids, I don’t think Michonne would be able to live with just knowing Rick was out there externally and mentally imprisoned. So I think at some point she’d absolutely try to save him again. She’d have to. Saving him is saving her, it’s saving their family and it’s always been made clear that Michonne will never give up on her family. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

Determined to find Rick yet again during this fight with Pearl, Michonne yells “Where is he?” a couple times until Pearl finally tells her to turn around.

(Side note: I always feel like this whole exchange between Pearl and Michonne would have been the perfect organic opportunity to have Michonne declare she’s Michonne Grimes. Like if Pearl asked who she really is, after having asked her a similar question in the arena in ep 3, and Michonne said her name is Michonne Grimes...that would have had me turning up, ijs 🤩) 

Rick is struggling as the pile of CRM walkers grows and nearly overtakes him. Pearl fires shots at the walker that Michonne ducks behind. And then the way Michonne rises up when Pearl's murder attempts against her don’t work...it’s giving baddest chick in the game. 💅🏽

And Pearl seems to be realizing she’s come face to face with the baddest as she gets more desperate and says, “You don’t understand. In a dead world, love is dead.” Michonne shakes her head and says, “Love doesn’t die. Watch.” And then she grabs Beale’s sword and plunges it into Pearl as Pearl gets to learn this Dana lady is real good with a sword. 😋

Again, it’s quite ironic for Pearl to die by Beale’s sword. The sword she swore on and the symbol of the CRM philosophy she so badly wanted to believe in ended up being her demise.

And Rick had it right - he and Michonne really are the sword that kills and gives life. So much so that both Rick and Michonne used this same sword to take out two opponents within a short time span of each other. A couple that slays together stays together, it’s just the truth. 😌

gif cred: @nerd4music

Michonne repeats, “Love doesn’t die” and again I'll admit I wasn't crazy about the dialogue throughout this fight scene. It was a bit heavy-handed and I felt the 'love doesn’t die' sentiment could have perhaps been expressed with more subtlety and subtext but again...we move. Plus, Danai’s such a gifted actress that she makes that line work more than it would in lesser hands. 👌🏽

'Love doesn’t die' is clearly said one; because it’s one of the main messages of the show and two; because they want you to worry for a second if those are famous last words based on what happens next.

Cuz then Rick is swarmed by walkers with seemingly no way out and he has to use a grenade which leads to Michonne just seeing a big explosion.

In a moment that parallels Say Yes, Michonne drops her sword when she thinks she’s seen Rick explode. The moment also parallels Rick's last full TWD episode, as now Michonne has to think she's seen Rick blow up for the second time after he seemingly 'exploded' on that bridge. You just know that tragic bridge memory popped into Michonne's head after hearing the grenade. 😞

gif cred: nerd4music/michonnegrimes

I was thoroughly convinced that they were not going to have either Rick or Michonne die in a show called The Ones Who Live so I was positive Rick survived this explosion. Even tho, for just a split second there I did have to acknowledge this is the final episode and it’s a finale where Rick and Michonne aren’t as untouchable as previous finales so...maybe…but fortunately, the universe loves them some Richonne so Rick survives by covering himself in walker bodies. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

When Rick emerges, he immediately goes to Michonne and she runs to him and they embrace which is heartfelt. Especially because the last time something like this happened and it seemed Rick had blown up, they weren't able to run into each other's arms afterward and instead had to go years without seeing each other again. So you know it means a lot to them to be able to hold each other right now like they so longed to do that day on the bridge.

gif cred: @nerd4music

It's sweet that even amid these circumstances, Rick and Michonne still seek this moment of connection to let each other know they're glad they're okay. And there's big Say Yes vibes with this hug being similar to how they ran into each other's arms and embraced in 7.12, so you know I’m here for it. 🥰

As they make their way out, they stand over a wheezing Pearl and she expresses that she’s come to see that Okafor was right, but she adds, “You just have to hope Beale was wrong.” And then Pearl hands Rick the mask and it’s sorta like a final peace offering between them.

Rick silently takes the mask and then he and Michonne fight their way through walkers and make it to some upper ground. Again, the walkers have some practical use as Michonne uses them as a stepping stool. And it’s sweet seeing Rick urgently pull walkers away who are trying to grab at Michonne. 😊

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

Rick gets one more signature him-against-the-horde moment as he shoots a bunch of walkers. It made me think about the many iconic Rick vs Everybody moments he's had over the years in TWD.

And, being the resilient man he is, of course, Rick Grimes is the one still standing after all those fights and faceoffs.

So then Rick makes it to the top of the platform as Michonne helps. Once they're finally out of the swarm, Rick and Michonne remove their masks and have a moment as they look at each other and look around at their plan being a success.

I love the little moment of Rick putting his arm around her and then Michonne putting her arm around him. 🥰That’s another thing about Richonne - they’re gonna make any moment a coupley moment. 👌🏽

gif cred: @taiturner

So as they zoom out and we get a shot reminiscent of the end of the TWD pilot ep, I love how in contrast to the pilot - Rick isn’t alone this time. 🥹 He found his other half in this crazy apocalypse and Michonne is by his side through it all. Including taking down the most powerful people in the most powerful military.

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

After looking around, Michonne and Rick start to hop from platform to platform to get up out of there. They did it, y’all. Mission accomplished. 🥳 As always, our beloved Richonne proved that they are...

And now, at long last it was finally time for Richonne to complete their ultimate mission and go home. 😭

And home isn’t just a place. For Rick and Michonne, most of all, home is their children. 👌🏽🥲

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eleven

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger Warnings: Reader expresses doubt, Reflection on relationships, Flirting, Mildly suggestive conversations but not really, Chaste kissing, Jake being handsy, The boys being idiots, Magic, Siren songs/mind control, Reader is lured, Identities revealed. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3.2k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

Trust was a funny thing, when you really sat down to think about it. You could believe someone with every fiber of your being, but there will always be a single shred of doubt, no matter how small. That’s where trust comes in.

Trust isn’t belief. Trust is the bridge between belief and fear. Trust is what you grip on to when everything else tells you to give up hope. Trust is the thing that prevails when all else seems lost, that morphs itself into hope. It’s the thing that will always keep you going.

Which is why you were sitting on the edge of Nat’s bed, thinking back on your conversation with Jake just a few days before.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she commented, eyeing you carefully as she strolled back into the room with her makeup bag in hand. “Have been for the past couple of days, actually.”

You sighed, offering her a smile that felt half-assed even to you. Grimacing, you shifted on the bed, running your hands over your thighs as you watched her set up her vanity with everything she would need.

“What are you going to do when I’m not around anymore for you to treat like a living doll?” You joked. Her eyes met yours in the mirror, and she raised an eyebrow at you. You squirmed under her gaze, letting out a sigh as you grimaced. “It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing if you’re worrying about it so much,” she countered, sitting down in the chair across from you, her brow pulled together in concern. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“It’s just,” you paused, chewing on your bottom lip, “I found out about what the mating bite entails.”

Her head jerked back in surprise, her eyes growing wide as she absorbed what you just told her.

“You…what?”

“I was talking with Cole when I went to pick up the masks the other day,” you murmured, eyeing the masks in question as they sat on the vanity. “He told me more about the mating bite and the legends surrounding it, and truth be told, it’s all I’ve been able to think about since.”

“Have you talked to Jake about it?” She frowned.

“Yeah,” you nodded, your cheeks heating up at the thought of the other night. “I’ve talked to him. He told me that it was all true, but that he’d never hurt me.”

“And?” She pressed. You glanced up at her, confusion plain on your face.

“And what?”

“Do you believe him?” She clarified, crossing her arms and leaning back. “Do you believe that he’ll never hurt you?”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Jake had never given you a reason to believe that he would hurt you in any way. Still, even the slimmest possibility that you might not resurface from the depths of the water when Jake pulled you down under had the familiar sinking sensation of anxiety fill your belly, a chill running down your spine at the thought.

But then again, there was no doubt in your mind that you would let him pull you under in the first place. It wasn’t a question of “if,” but “when.” Jake was many things, but someone who intentionally hurt others was not on that list.

“I trust him,” you settled on finally. “I trust him with my life.”

“I know it’s scary,” she murmured, eyes searching yours for any sign that you might be having doubts. “After all, the claiming ritual is what the old myths and legends of mermaids and sirens are based on, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

“But those stories are wrong, Skipper,” she said, leaning forward to take your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Those stories are born out of fear of what people don’t understand, of what they want to believe. The monsters in the stories aren’t the people we know and love.”

“What are you trying to say, Nat?”

“I’m saying,” she paused, sucking a breath before letting it out slowly. “I’m saying that you can hear as many things as you want to hear. Whether it’s good or bad or somewhere in between. It’s okay to be scared of what you don’t know, but don’t let it keep you from the things that you do know. Don’t let fear keep you away from a lifetime of happiness.”

You stared at her for a moment. Of course you knew everything she was saying was true. You knew that Jake, Bradley, Javy, and Reuben weren’t the monsters in the stories you’ve heard. They were your friends.

Reuben was smart and funny when he wanted to be, having taken time to show you how to sail when the gang would take the boats out on the sunny, summer days. He made sure you stayed hydrated when Jake wasn’t around to do it instead, who acted so much like an older brother towards you.

Javy was another brother you never realized you wanted. Teasing you and making sure you got home safe when the others were busy or when he picked you and Nat up to take you home. Even when it was just the three of you, he always made sure you felt included and never like the third wheel you knew you were being.

Bradley rounded out the trio of your new older siblings. Always making sure you were safe and out of harm’s way. Sweet Bradley who coped with the loss of his security at such a young age with an easy smile and flirtatious nature. The man who never once made you feel like an outsider in the longstanding group of friends.

Then there was Jake. A man who was perfect by no means, but was clear about his intentions with you from the first moment you met. Who would rather suffer the wrath of others than lie to you even for a second. Who made you feel safe and wanted even when you thought your own mind was playing tricks on you. He was everything you wanted.

“I won’t, Nat,” you smiled, squeezing her hand back. The brunette let out a relieved sigh, smiling softly back at you before standing from the chair and dragging you towards the vanity.

“Alright, we’ve got a lot of work to do before the festival starts, so let’s get to it.”

The sun was slowly nearing the horizon when you set foot on the boardwalk, a sizeable crowd already gathered on the boardwalk. Several booths and stalls were set up along the sides, the local vendors doing their best to advertise items from their shops to the tourists that stopped to look.

Everyone was dressed like they were going to a party. The women who walked down the streets were dressed in a rainbow of different outfits - mainly dresses. The men were dressed more casually, but some still wore suits as they escorted their dates up and down the festival walkways.

“I’m definitely getting some stir fry for dinner,” Nat beamed as she looked over at Javy. He chuckled, resting a hand on the small of her back as the three of you waited by the entrance for the rest of your friends.

“We said 6:30, right?” You murmured, glancing down at your phone before back up at the crowd that parted to pass your tiny group.

“Don’t you worry, Skipper,” Javy smirked, waggling his eyebrows at you. “I’m sure those nerds will be here any second. They probably wanted to make sure they look nice and pretty for all the girls tonight.”

“Aren’t they wearing masks?” Nat asked, arching a brow up at her boyfriend. He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned his attention to the crowd in search of the others.

“Yeah, probably.”

“You’re so helpful.”

“I know,” he grinned, raising a hand to wave to someone in the crowd. You followed his line of sight, sucking in a breath when your eyes met green ones. A smile found its way to your lips as Jake picked up his pace, nearly running to stand next to you. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently to him as you rested a hand on his chest to steady yourself.

“Hey,” you breathed, practically in a whisper as you gazed up at him through your mask. His lips pulled into a smirk as his grip tightened on your waist, your cheeks heating up at the gesture.

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning down so that his lips hovered over yours. “Missed you.”

“Missed me?” You giggled. “How could you have missed me? You saw me just this morning.”

“Always miss you,” he hummed, letting his lips rest against yours. It wasn’t a kiss, not really, but your heart fluttered in your chest nonetheless. His face was half covered by a white mask with golden accents, the offending object bumping against your own, causing another chorus of giggles to slip past your lips as he smiled. You heard a gag from beside you, and you glanced over to see Bradley gagging as the others watched you.

“You two are gross,” he asserted, wrinkling his nose. “Get a room.”

You rolled your eyes, squeaking when Jake chuckled and pulled you impossibly closer.

“If you insist,” he grinned, moving to pull you back towards town and away from the boardwalk. You stumbled after him, lurching when a hand grabbed your upper arm, pulling you back and away from Jake.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nat snapped, shooting a glare at the blonde. “I worked too damn long and too damn hard for you to steal her away this early. She deserved to be showed off.”

Jake pouted at her, but considered her words for a moment. The smile once again finding a home on his face, he offered you his arm, which you took gratefully.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” He taunted, already pulling you towards the festival. “Let’s get a move on. I have a lady that needs showing off.”

The others followed the two of you with rolls of their eyes, and you looked back grin at Nat excitedly.

“So, what’s first?”

“Well, I’m starving,” she declared, rushing past you with Javy in tow. “I say we get something to eat first and foremost.”

“What are you thinking?” Bob asked, his eyes darting down to look at where Nat and Javy’s hands sat intertwined. His eyebrow arched slightly, blue eyes meeting yours for a brief second behind his silver mask. You shook your head slightly, and his face told you that the two of you would most definitely be talking about the development later.

“Stir fry,” Nat grinned, wagging her eyebrows at him. Bradley scoffed, earning a glare from the brunette.

“We’re not getting stir fry,” he said, an edge of disgust in his tone as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We are treated to delicious fried food but once a year, and you want to waste this opportunity getting stir fry?”

“The stir fry is the best damn thing here, Bradshaw, and you know it,” she fired back, letting go of Javy’s hand to cross her own arms as she glared the man down.

“Why don’t we just get our own things?” Reuben suggest, coming up to stand next to the two, placing gentle hands on both of their shoulders.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Mickey chirped, rubbing his hands together as he scanned over the different booths, shooting a dazzling smile to a group of girls huddled by one of the jewelry stalls. The girls giggled, whispering amongst themselves as they eyed your group in appraisal. Reuben let out a low whistle as he followed Mickey’s line of sight.

“Damn,” he murmured, a charming grin sliding onto his face.

“We’ll, uh, catch you later,” Mickey threw over his shoulder, making a beeline for the other group with Reuben hot on his tail. Bob rolled his eyes, already moving to follow them.

“I’ll go make sure they stay out of trouble,” he muttered. Bradley gave him a broad grin, letting out a loud cry of encouragement that set the bespectacled man’s cheeks ablaze.

“Yeah!” Bradley called, clapping his hand and earning a few looks from the passersby. “Go get’em tiger!”

If looks could kill, you surmised he’d be dead ten times over with the glare Bob shot back at him.

“Can we go now?” Nat groaned, looking around at the rest of you. “I’m starving here!”

“Yeah, but we’re not getting stir fry,” Bradley asserted once more. Nat bristled, and you watched as the two went in for round two of their argument. Jake leaned down so that his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a tingle up your spine that nearly took your breath away.

“They could be at this a while,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your cheek as his arm came to wrap around your waist. “Let’s get out of here and go find our own thing to do.”

You nodded, allowing him to lead you discreetly away from your friends and towards the booths. The two of you walked in silence for a moment before he turned to look down at you.

“Are you even hungry?” He asked, stopping as you looked at the jewelry at one of the booths.

“Not really,” you murmured, eyeing a set of the handmade earrings on display. “Are you?”

“Nah,” he replied, wrinkling his nose. “We can just walk around for a little bit, if you want?”

“That sounds just fine to me,” you smiled, meeting his gaze and stopping. For a moment, it was like everything else faded away and it was just the two of you, standing and staring at one another. Jake’s eyes began to glow an iridescent green the longer he stared at you, his breaths coming out a little more ragged. You could get lost in those eyes, you were sure of it.

“Can I help you find anything?”

You jumped, turning to the woman behind the table as she smiled at you.

“What?” You asked, breathless as your mind scrambled to catch up. “Oh, no! I’m just looking right now, but thank you!”

The woman nodded before turning her attention to another customer. You looked back at Jake who looked like he wanted to say something. Before he could, a chime sounded, and he dug in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out, scanning the message before casting an apologetic look towards you.

“It’s my mom,” he explained, gesturing at the phone. “She wants to talk to me. Do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all,” you smiled, waving him off. “You go ahead, just text me when you’re finished and we can meet up again, yeah?”

He gave you a small smile, leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a gentle kiss before turning and walking away.

You perused several different booths before the pangs of hunger made themselves known. You decided to get yourself a bag of popcorn to tide you over while waiting for Jake to text you that he was done, bouncing excitedly at the thought of the buttery treat. You scrolled on your phone while you waited in line, skimming different articles as the line inched forward slowly.

Skipper.

You glanced up, expecting to see one of your friends, frowning when you didn’t. You could have sworn you heard your name, and an uneasy feeling made its way across your skin, clutching at the pit in your stomach. A low hum could be heard on the breeze, and you noticed a few of the vendors glance around uneasily.

Skipper, come find me.

You looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Several other people looked around with frowns on their faces, but you paid them no mind as you scanned the crowd frantically.

Come find me, and everything will be fine. Don’t you want to find me?

“Yes,” you whispered, stepping out of the line, eyes still searching for the source of the honeyed voice. “Yes, I want to find you. Where are you?”

Follow my voice, Skipper.

Your head felt light, your body like it was floating as you took another step into the dense crowd. Your eyes still scanned the crowd, stopping as they made contact with glowing green. They stared at you intently from behind a solid black mask, the top half of the man’s face covered entirely. His lips twitched up into a knowing smirk as he watched you, slowly raising his hand in offering to you.

There’s a good girl. Do as you're told, and everything will be just fine.

The fact that his lips weren’t moving should have concerned you, but you were so focused on getting to him that you didn’t even notice. You took a few steps towards him, only stopping when the mark on your neck pulsed.

Come on, Skipper. You’re almost there. Just a few more steps and then we can live happily ever after. Don’t you want that?

You hesitated. Did you want that? You were sure you did, but somehow this felt wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The mark on your neck pulsed again, almost as if it were pleading with you not to go. You frowned, reaching up a heavy hand to run your fingers over it.

Ignore it, Skipper. Listen to me. You want to come with me, don’t you? I would never hurt you. I can give you everything. Trust me.

Yes, that was what you wanted. You wanted to go with this man. How could you have thought otherwise? This man looked at you so intensely, almost like he was driven mad with need as he called for you.

Just a little more, sweetheart. Then we’ll have nothing to worry about ever again.

You were only about a yard away now, so close and still so far. You wanted to please him, make him proud. All you had to do was take a few more steps, and-

You let out a grunt as someone bumped into you, nearly sending you to the ground with the force of it. It was like everything came rushing back to you all at once. The floating feeling stopped, and suddenly you were aware of your surroundings once again. You looked around at the surrounding crowd, noticing how a few of the local vendors stared at you with unease, their eyes flickering away to focus on something else. No, not something. Someone.

Your head whipped up, locking onto the figure who stood before you. Your eyes widened in terror at the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with a mix of anger and despair as you fought for coherency once more. You knew those eyes.

Someone bumped into the man, startling him, and you watched as he let out a strangled cry filled with frustration and anguish. The passerby stopped, raising his hands to put some distance between the two of them.

“Woah, man,” the stranger said, eyes widening as the man tore his mask away in anger, glowing eyes seething as he bared his teeth. “I’m sorry, okay? It was an accident.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you continued to stare, your mind trying desperately to reconcile what you knew with what you were seeing.

The man looked back at you, tears now in his eyes as he let out another anguished cry, turning on his feet and racing through the crowd.

Cole.

A/N: Welp...here's the reveal, at long last. What do you guys think? Was it worth the wait? What's going to happen next?? Only two chapters left! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you enjoy my work, consider leaving me a tip! You can also find my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond!

[sassenach77yle]

7x12 “Carnal Knowledge”

Jamie said something under his breath in Gaelic. I didn’t catch most of the words. He sat with his head bent, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, and breathed audibly. After a moment, I sat back down beside him and breathed, too. The cicadas grew louder, an urgent buzz that drowned out the rush of water and the rustling of leaves, humming in my bones. “Damn him,” Jamie muttered at last, and sat up. He looked disturbed, angry—but not angry at me. “John, um, is all right, isn’t he?” I asked hesitantly. To my surprise—and my slight unease—Jamie’s lips twisted a little. “Aye. Well. I’m sure he is,” he said, in a tone admitting of a certain doubt, which I found alarming. “What the bloody hell did you do to him?” I said, sitting up straight. His lips compressed for an instant. “I hit him,” he said. “Twice,” he added, glancing away. “Twice?” I echoed, in some shock. “Did he fight you?” “No,” he said shortly. “Really.” I rocked back a bit, looking him over. Now that I had calmed down enough to take notice, I thought he was displaying . . . what? Concern? Guilt? “Why did you hit him?” I asked, striving for a tone of mild curiosity, rather than one of accusation. Evidently I was less than successful with this, as he turned on me like a bear stung in the rump by a bee. “Why? Ye dare to ask me why?”

“Certainly I do,” I said, discarding the mild tone. “What did he do to make you hit him? And twice?” Jamie had no problem with mayhem, but he normally did require a reason. He made a deeply disgruntled Scottish noise, but he’d promised me honesty a long time ago and hadn’t seen fit to break that promise yet. He squared his shoulders and looked at me straight. “The first was between him and me; it was a blow I’ve owed him for a good while.” “And you just seized the opportunity to punch him, because it was convenient?” I asked, a bit wary of asking directly what the devil he meant by “between him and me.” “I couldna help it,” he said testily. “He said something and I hit him.” I didn’t say anything but inhaled through my nose, meaning him to hear it. There was a long moment of silence, weighted with expectation and broken only by the shush of the river. “He said the two of ye hadna been making love to each other,” he finally muttered, looking down. “No, we weren’t,” I said, somewhat surprised. “I told you. We were both—oh!” He did look up at me then, glaring. “Oh,” he said, the word dripping with sarcasm. “Ye were both fucking me, he said.” “Oh, I see,” I murmured. “Well. Um. Yes, that’s quite true.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I see,” I said again, and thought I probably did. There was a deep friendship of long standing between Jamie and John, but I was aware that one of the pillars it rested on was a strict avoidance of any reference to John’s sexual attraction toward Jamie. If John had lost his composure sufficiently as to kick that pillar out from under the two of them . . . “And the second time?” I asked, choosing not to ask him to elaborate any further on the first. “Aye, well, that one was on your account,” he said, both voice and face relaxing a little. “I’m flattered,” I said, as dryly as possible. “But you really shouldn’t have.” “Well, I ken that now,” he admitted, flushing. “But I’d lost my temper already and hadna got it back again. Ifrinn,” he muttered, and, stooping, picked up the discarded digging knife and jammed it hard into the bench beside him. He closed his eyes then, pressed his lips tight, and sat tapping the fingers of his right hand against his leg. He hadn’t done that since I’d amputated the remains of his frozen fourth finger, and I was taken aback to see him do it now. For the first time, I began to appreciate the true complexities of the situation.

“Tell me,” I said, in a voice not much louder than the cicadas.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“About John Grey. About Helwater.” He drew a deep, exasperated breath and opened his eyes, though he didn’t look at me.

“I managed there. Staying numb, as ye said. I suppose I might have stayed drunk, too, had I been able to afford it.” His mouth twisted, and he folded his right hand into a fist, then looked down at it in surprise; he hadn’t been able to do that for thirty years. He opened it and put his hand flat on his knee.

“I managed,” he repeated. “But then there was Geneva—and I told ye how that was, too, did I not?” “You did.”

He sighed. “And then there was William. When Geneva died and it was my fault, it was a knife in my heart—and then William . . .” His mouth softened.

“The bairn cut me wide open, Sassenach. He spilled my guts out into my hands.” I put my hand on his, and he turned it, his fingers curling over mine.

“And that bloody English s0d0mit* bandaged me,” he said, so low I could scarcely hear him above the sound of the river. “With his friendship.”

He drew breath again and let it out explosively. “No, I didna kill him.

I dinna ken if I’m glad of it or not—but I didn’t.”

I let out my own breath in a deep sigh and leaned against him.

“I knew that. I’m glad.”

24 WELCOME COOLNESS IN THE HEAT, COMFORT IN THE MIDST OF WOE ~ Written in My Own Heart's Blood

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: Bakugou dies but comes back to life, “comes back wrong” trope, implied fighting, angst

When Bakugou died, you’re not sure how you went on living. Grief had taken over your life, sat you in the passenger side while it cruised off the highway into icy waters. And even then, you couldn’t find the energy to drown.

It’s why there’s a sudden uptick of energy when you’re promised to have him back. Some top scientists contact you months after his death, tell you to hurry down to the headquarters labs, come and rejoice for what you’re about to witness. And you’re horrified, to say the least.

“This isn’t my husband.” Are your first words when you walk in, watch the figure on the other side of the glass examine its own hands. It looks like your husband but—but his hair isn’t the right shade of blond all over. His nose bridge had a slight bump after a scuffle with a villain. He had a scar on his hand but—but it never looked like it was to sew a pinky beside the other fingers.

“Is that really my husband?” You ask next in disbelief, slowly entering the room. Bakugou’s head snaps up, his eyes a little brighter than you remember but—they hold so much emotion. So much memory, so much panic, so much guilt.

“I left you.” He mutters, his voice raspy and ragged, and you wonder if it’ll always be like this now. It makes you cry a little harder than it should, but you only embrace each other. He’s cold and his shoulders don’t hold the same mass and his back doesn’t carry the same scars. There’s one, jagged and rough, running down his back, and you think, you think that’s where they slipped a new spine in.

“Welcome back home.” You tell him, weeks after meeting him again, new and not totally—Katsuki. He’s stiff and he doesn’t immediately take off his boots when he enters, and it worries you. Makes you think if you’ve just let a stranger into your home, one that has stolen your dead husbands face. Makes you wonder if he’ll be as loving as Katsuki once was, or if he’ll become your monster looming over you with the guilt of not being able to rest anymore.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You whisper against his mouth one night, a little while after he’s moved back. You don’t know why you lay under him, why you let him nestle himself inside of you, why you let him hold you against his chest. Katsuki always ran his hands over your cheeks and neck whenever he held you like this, but this…man, only holds himself up with his hands resting beside your head. It’s alien, how he looks at you, how his hips are methodically measured with every thrust, how he kisses you every 8 seconds. You wonder if he’s more robot than Frankenstein monster.

“Why did you come back to me like this?” You ask him one night, barricaded in the bathroom away from him. You can hear his sobs on the other side, his pleading to be let in. He tells you he never wanted to come back if he had to be like this, that he’s sorry, please let him in, he misses the warmth of your skin, he’s never been so cold before, he’s never liked the cold.

“Is this considered cheating?” You ask yourself aloud one night, when Bakugou is forced back to the lab when he becomes too…un-Bakugou. To sleep with a man that is your husband in every way but? Your husband has been dead for a year now, and yet you stroke the chin of the man that tries so hard to be him everyday, but fails so miserably at it every time.

“I’ll come back to you right this time.” Bakugou promises to you when he’s strapped down to leave for the lab and before he’s sedated. But you don’t believe him—you never did. Your husband is dead, and this animated corpse has been nothing but a cheap mockery of everything you’ve lost and something you will never truly get back.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Baby, it's cold outside

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 27

Prompt: Coffee shop/bookstore/tattoo studio AU

Rated: M

CW: Alcohol; Implied sex

Tags: Coffee shop owner Steve; Tattoo studio owner Eddie; Christmas fluff; Flirting; Sexual tension; Getting together

Notes: Continued from my December microfic, but can also stand alone

Eddie swivels morosely in his desk chair, stretches until something in his lower back pops. He glances out the window and immediately regrets it. If anything, the snow has gotten worse, the dark street outside near invisible behind the curtain of flakes that's been falling for hours. 

The blizzard hit just in time for Christmas, grinding all air traffic and most of the roads to a standstill. Eddie called Wayne to break the news, groaning and grumbling all the way, only to be gruffly told off.

“Ain't nothing to be done about it, kiddo. You be safe and I'll see ya when it clears.” 

He was right, of course, the old shit. Eddie is a sensible adult who knows this. And so he holed up at the tattoo studio for some long overdue paperwork. A perfectly reasonable, adult thing to do on a lonely holiday.

Except it's boring as fuck and his back hurts and the cold is creeping in from outside and now he's feeling like a little boy who's had Christmas stolen by the fucking Grinch. 

To top things off, he isn't even sure he'll make it back to his apartment with how things are looking outside.

He's just resigning himself to a night on the foldout in his office when there's a sharp rap against the front door. Eddie almost falls out of his chair. 

“Jesus fuck-” he mutters, bridging the distance and fumbling to unlock the door. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Steve stomps inside, shaking off snow as he goes. Even though it isn't more than a few steps from his door to Eddie’s, he's positively covered in the stuff, hair weighed down and uncharacteristically droopy. Cradled against the chest of his cable-knit sweater is a tray. Eddie spots cookies and two mugs overflowing with copious amounts of whipped cream. 

He watches how Steve sets the tray down on the table in his waiting area and runs his hands through his hair to get the residue snowflakes out. It leaves him looking deliciously disheveled, all mussed-up strands, golden skin flushed pink from the cold. Eddie finds his mouth watering for reasons not exclusively related to the scents wafting off the tray.

Steve is looking at him, like he's waiting for an answer, and shit, he said something, didn't he?

“Sorry, what?” Eddie asks. 

“I said,” Steve shakes his head, but there's no malice behind it. “Dig in, it's not getting any warmer.” 

Eddie crumples down onto the couch, hides his face behind one of the mugs … and blinks in surprise.

“Alcohol?” 

“Grand Marnier,” Steve says, settling down beside him and taking the other mug. Eddie has no idea what the fuck that means. Somehow though, the way the words tumble off Steve’s tongue, low and rumbly and distinctly French, really does it for him, so he doesn't complain. 

“Cheers,” he says and clanks their mugs together before taking a tentative sip. A firework of flavors bursts across his tongue - bitter coffee and thick, sweet cream and something heady and boozy and orange-flavored? 

“Good?”

“So fucking good, dude!” 

Behind his own mug, Steve's mouth tugs into a smile. Eddie isn’t quite sure if the heady rush that floods him is entirely due to the coffee. 

*

“Soooo,” Eddie slurs. The boozy coffee is long gone, as is the second helping Steve got from his shop. He's brought the entire bottle of the fancy French, orangey stuff though, pretty little genius that he is. Eddie giggles and takes another swig. “How c’me you're even here, huh? No family to visit, no girls to kiss under mistletoes?” 

“Have you looked outside?” Steve snorts, swaying into his space to snatch the bottle back. God he is pretty - cheeks flushed from the alcohol, cookie crumbs at the corners of his mouth. All Eddie would need to do is twist his fingers into that preppy sweater of his, yank him closer. Lick them off. 

“-not exactly on visiting terms with my folks,” Steve is saying and Eddie jerks back to attention. “Or speaking terms. My best friend was gonna visit, but I think she'd end me if I so much as brought a mistletoe near her. Anyhow, she can't come, what with the blizzard and all…” 

“So what?” Eddie grins, tongue loosened by alcohol and sugar and the way the light brings out the gold in Steve’s hair and eyes. “You decided to drop by out of the goodness of your heart and save my holiday like some perfect little Christmas angel?” 

Steve blinks. Averts his eyes. Flushes a whole new shade of pink. It blooms on top of the blush that has settled over his nose and cheekbones, like a fresh layer of color on a painting. Eddie thinks of all the other parts of Steve’s body he'd like to paint like this.

“Whatever,” Steve mumbles, “Just thought we'd both feel less alone, if- … It's getting late, I'd better-” 

“Go?” Eddie catches the sleeve of his sweater just as he's about to stand. Steve falls back into the couch. “Where? You're not gonna trudge home through that weather, are you?” 

Steve licks his lips, pink and glossy. Eddie wonders if they still taste like coffee and cream and oranges. His fingers find the soft skin of Steve's wrist under the hem of the sweater. 

“Just stay. You're right, I don't feel like being alone tonight.” 

“Stop it,” Steve's eyes are impossibly bright in the low light. “Please, I … I'll put up with your teasing any other day of the year, but not today.” 

“Steve …” Eddie rumbles. The heartbeat under his fingers flutters. “Stay … and I'll show you how serious I am.” 

He leans in, breathes his next words against the shell of a pink ear. “If you wanna, I'll even call you angel again.” 

They do end up using the foldout, the cold quickly forgotten.

All my holiday drabbles

[cloudcountry]

Aur naur requests are open!

Can I request Vil,Leona and Azul (separate) with a fem!reader s/o reading a horror novel and they ask what she's reading and she explains in great detail the terrifying disturbing things in the novel. I'm reading the novel Misery and I'd recommend it. It's a great horror novel!

SUMMARY: Their S/O describes something morbid from a book they're reading.

WARNINGS: Death (Azul, Vil.) Torture (Vil.) and Murder (Azul.)

COMMENTS: i pulled out my own horror novels for this (and some really freaky history shit. i'm going to talk about the bloody countess btw)

ALSO IF YOU CATCH WHAT IM REFERENCING IN LEONA'S I LOVE YOU

i took vil's in a different direction because i was inspired so yeah

When Leona asked you what you were reading, he didn’t expect you to absolutely light up. You scoot close to him and place the book on his thigh, and Leona decides to humor you even if he was trying to nap.

“One of the characters is running for their life right now.” you say, giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world, “There’s this creature that he’s hallucinating due to a goopy thing that got injected into him on a bridge—no I’m not going to explain so don’t ask—and it leaves goopy footprints everywhere. It goes from just standing there to running after him and when he looks back there are handprints on the ground too. It’s so creepy to think of something bounding after him that he can’t even see!”

Leona pauses to soak in the information you just dumped on him before groaning. If that’s what you’re into, he’s not going to judge. Just as long as you stop giggling so he can sleep.

When Azul asks you what you’re reading, it’s a simple attempt at small talk. He rests his arm on the booth you’re sitting at and leans over your shoulder, curious.

“This is a good part,” you beam, scooting over in the booth so he can sit down, “This guy just got killed and his corpse is all bloated. It’s like water has been forced under his skin and filled up his lungs as he gargled for mercy...his mouth is still open and everything too, and it's like his jaw has been stretched by all his screaming. His limbs are all twisted up and his eyes are rolled back and oh, don’t worry about it!! He was shitty and I hated him. He deserved it!”

Azul blinks, slowly processing everything you just told him. Ah, so that’s what you like to read. Very interesting, however morbid it may be. Perhaps you should talk to Jade, no? He would find this just as fascinating as you.

When Vil asks you what you’re reading, he does it as a way to start a conversation with you. You seem very intrigued by what you’re reading, scribbling down notes on a separate sheet of paper.

“It’s a biography on the Queen of Hearts.” you explain, not looking up from your paper, “I read a lot of novels about women who killed back in my world, so I wanted to compare her to them since she executed her citizens without much consideration for their lives. See, the Bloody Countess is one of the more notable ones, torturing her servant girls by pouring honey on their bodies and letting bugs bite them in the spring. In the winter, she would pour cold water on their bodies and watch them freeze. She would also jam sharp objects under their nails and—”

Vil nods along to what you’re saying, intrigued by your train of thought. He obviously isn’t aware of what your world holds, so hearing about it in relation to his world is fascinating.

[tianasficrecs168]

Venom fanfic recs

A black dot • means it's a one-shot

A heart ♡ means it's focused on Sexy times (it's pure filth PWP, or like, a plot focused on getting to the porn part lol)

Wildehack: “Intra-personal negotiation” (Eddie/Venom) • How fucked is that, that a compromise that ended with eating raw shark liver under the Golden Gate Bridge in the dead of night is probably the most interpersonally mature he’s ever been? Intra-personally, Venom corrects, not really paying attention.

Arahir: “Wrapped around your finger” (Eddie/Venom) • Venom goes about love in every wrong way he knows how. Thank god for late night television. “Me. They invited me for dinner,” Eddie insists, trying again to make his hair look some specific way in the mirror. He’s given up and started over three times. It’s a double date. Like on that show. “What—what are you watching that there are double dates? Jesus. I should cancel cable. Make you read a book instead.” No!

Impertinence: “Something Like A Pipe Bomb” (Venom/Eddie) Eddie already had enough problems, what with being a busy reporter with an alien parasite, when he caught one of his neighbors holding a fridge above her head. Now he has twice as many problems, including a kid who won't stop treating him like the big brother she never had and a moody alien parasite. Or: you can totally secretly pine while sharing a brain with someone else, as Venom and Eddie are both determined to prove.

Pepperfield: “That blessed arrangement” (Venom/Eddie) • That’s us, Eddie, Venom says suddenly, with a bizarre amount of intensity. We’re like these two fools. Eddie squints at the screen for a second before he understands. “What, married?” Venom is well aware that they live in a romantic comedy. Eddie isn’t, but he’ll get the picture eventually.

Dezemberzarin: “The no dating policy” (Venom/Eddie) • a two-shot series What’s the point? Eddie glances around to the other people hurrying along the sidewalk, lowers his voice until he’s muttering into the collar of his jacket. “I like sex! I want to have sex again in the future, so you’ll have to find a way to deal with it.” If you say so.

xzombiexkittenx: “Nice to Taste” (Venom/Eddie) • Eddie doesn’t do well when he thinks the symbiote died in the fire. He doesn’t tell Dan that suicide is the reason he’s in this mess in the first place. He didn’t go to the Golden Gate Bridge to throw Anne’s engagement ring into the water, he went there to throw himself but got distracted by Dr. Skirth’s messages and justice against Drake instead.

Tuesday: “Terms of Endearment” (Venom/Eddie) • In which there are accidental pet names, Eddie leaning into being in love with an alien symbiote, and an ill-advised kidnapping. — The first time Eddie called Venom dear, it was automatic. They were shopping, and Eddie bypassed the freezer section to pick up some chocolate first. Venom said, "Don't forget the tater tots." Eddie, well-trained by more than one serious relationship in his life, said, "Yes, dear."

Ottergirl: “Heartthrob” (Venom/Eddie) ♡ • He feels encompassing when Eddie says that, he feels like there's no end to him. All that affection in Eddie's voice and the knowing, knowing he wants to be with Venom, wants to belong to Venom. Eddie calls Venom by a pet name, and Venom likes it. Maybe a little too much.

MercurialTenacity: - “Nightlife” (Venom/Eddie) ♡  • Eddie is soft when he sleeps. During the day he’s wound taut, one thing or another always running through his head and keeping tension in his muscles, but when he’s asleep - oh yes, when he’s asleep his defenses melt away. All the hard edges smooth out, his body goes all loose and pliant, and his mind mellows into the background. Venom loves when Eddie sleeps, and he does it for hours at a time. Sometimes even eight or nine. Nine whole hours, and Venom has its host’s warm body right there to explore.

Redredribbons: “Storms” (Venom/Eddie) • The Symbiote struggles to understand human habits and biorhythms. Especially Eddie's, when his own brain seems intent on sabotaging him.

Stereobone: “No Idea That You’re in Deep” (Venom/Eddie) ♡  • If the last eight months have shown Eddie anything, it's that foresight is not his strong suit.

Surveycorpsjean: - “Lovesick Baby” (Venom/Eddie) Eddie spent his whole life alone in his head. Now he’s not sure he could ever go back. Sometimes, you want things you shouldn't.